


wasteland, baby

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Daybreak (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, set before their hookup in 1.05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: Turbo’s nearly silent over the monotonous whistling, stepping carefully around the bear skin. His eyes are easy to read, even with the distance between them, even with the vicious burns marring half his face. It’s something intense and if it were anyone but Wes, they might find it hard to meet the other boy’s eyes.“What happened to your pretty face, Turbo?”
Relationships: Wesley Fists/Turbo Pokaski | Turbo Bro Jock
Kudos: 10





	wasteland, baby

**Author's Note:**

> am i very very late to the very very small party? yes  
> but cody kearsley stuns again, and i fucking love those two.  
> i also listened to wasteland, baby (title inspo) by hozier the whole time i wrote this and it really do be perfect for this pairing

Turbo was first to get there, though that hadn’t changed in all the time Wes had known him. Always first, always the winner. Turbo.

He looks irritated, though that’s undoubtedly a symptom of the eery whistling filling the quiet, still space of the factory. Wes had heard it before he was even in the building- a long, melodious tune that was unnerving before it was so much as tolerable, a loud reminder that they shared the space with something dangerous and something diabolical.

But then again, they’d all become a bit dangerous and diabolical since the bombs dropped. The bombs that killed most things and weaponised those that remained.

Turbo’s mask is off, dropped next to a luxurious bear skin that’s been laid out in the middle of everything. Wesley wonders fleetingly how such a breakable valuable survived the end of the world. He watches Turbo push off of the scaffolding he’d been leant against, making slow, long steps toward Wes. He’s nearly silent over the monotonous whistling, stepping carefully around the bear skin. His eyes are easy to read, even with the distance between them, even with the vicious burns marring half his face. It’s something intense and if it were anyone but Wes, they might find it hard to meet the other boy’s eyes.

“What happened to your pretty face, Turbo?” Wes sighs as they come to a stop, mere centimetres between them. He moves a hand slowly, up and up until the pads of his fingers brush almost impossibly softly against the scarred skin of the brunet’s cheek. There’s a flinch beneath the touch, a pinch of brows and a minute curl of the lip, whether it’s out of sensitivity or something else, only Turbo would know.

He makes a quiet noise, a squeak if anything, as Wes’ fingertips glide up his cheek until they slip into the short hairs on the side of his head. His hair is longer than it used to be, though not by much- enough to tickle the tops of his ears in a way Turbo would never allow before the apocalypse. It’s matted to his head in places where his beaten headgear would’ve pressed against his skull, letting pressure and sweat mould it however which way it liked. He presses softly to the back of Turbo’s skull, until their heads are moving together, foreheads brushing seconds before their lips do.

It’s softer than he might’ve guessed, though he supposes that’s what months of separation earnt him. Turbo missed him- over the jealousy and mild obsession and everything else, he _missed_ Wes. So much so that in this moment, since their reunion after the prison break from the factory, Turbo is just grateful. That look in his eyes is back when they pull away, the same look he’d had as Wes released him from his cage, it’s warm and fuzzy and… and in _love_.

You cut out a lot of bullshit when you stop talking- that’s why kissing was so real, so powerful, you didn’t have any bullshit getting in the way when you kissed. Whatever took out half of Turbo’s face and most of his vocal cords left behind in the wreckage something much rawer. That’s how he knew Turbo was for real- he couldn’t be anything else.

Wes’ fingers drop to the horrendous, shiny amalgamate hanging around Turbo’s neck, slipping along all the little heads and arms and shoulders before he lifts it up, big, rough hands moving alongside his to help the chain over his head. Turbo inhales deeply once it’s off his shoulders, as if a weight bigger than the bling about his neck had been lifted. Wes is careful where he places it, both because of its value to Turbo, who watches the chain carefully, and because dropping such a thing might make more of a ruckus than it’s worth in such an echoey, still space. Even the whistling, which had been so droning and abrasive had wavered off, turning the silence menacing in its wake. Even though the Baron, where he sat in a cage of his own making, couldn’t conceivably see much of them, the quiet felt watchful, felt very very aware.

Wesley backs up a few paces, before his fingers start working at the fastenings and ties of his armour, the two undressing in silence, eyes stealing glances at bear skin until they return to each other, both left in their heavy, thick pants. Wesley feels a smirk curl the corner of his mouth as he runs a hand up over Turbo’s chest, he can see where the harsh sun bit lines into the others skin, forming striped lines across his chest and stomach.

Turbo makes a low, petulant sound at Wesley’s amusement, and the shorter man pulls the brunet to him to kiss the scowl off of his face. He lets his hands slide over the sun-browned skin of his stomach till he can grasp the soft flesh on Turbo’s hips. There are rough fingertips against the sides of his face, and the two awkwardly shuffle until their feet slip onto the coarse bearskin rug.

They end up in a pile, and Wes claims pride of place against Turbo’s chest as they kiss, the sounds of their lips almost deafening in the space of the factory. When their mouths part, Turbo looks up at Wes like he hung the stars. And he swallows thickly when a kiss is pressed to soft, unburnt cheek. The ronin huffs, “your poor, pretty face.”

He looks up at Wes with round, sad eyes, whimpering a moment to really play up his self-sympathising, and it makes Wes laugh, shoving softly at a broad shoulder. When he looks back to Turbo’s face, the other man has an easy smile pulling at his lips, and he’s looking at Wes like he’s the winner. Wesley.

**Author's Note:**

> if you dont think turbo and the jocks would have wack ass tan lines youre objectively wrong


End file.
